Chapter 11 #2
“But all the gods respect her,” I say. I think of Zeus and Poseidon, the covetous leer when their eyes rove up and down my body, of Hera’s peremptory manner toward me.
And then there’s Artemis, who has told me bluntly that she wants none of my interference, that love is of no interest to her at all.
I know, though, what she does with her forest-nymphs under the moonlight.
I know that her wild huntresses are the sweetest of her prey, willing and eager to succumb to her embrace.
She just won’t acknowledge that love flows from me.
Even Demeter, as kind and maternal as she can be, sometimes gives me the impression that she thinks my power a more frivolous thing than hers.
Not quite as crucial as replenishing the harvest every year.
As though the act of survival is more important than having something to live for.
Ares leans over the side of the bed, reaching for the jug of nectar and the rough-hewn cups on the floor. He sits up to pour the golden liquid into each, handing one to me. He lives so simply here, but I’m extremely grateful not to have his unnerving attendants materializing to serve us.
“They’d rather not think about it,” he says. “How important you are, how powerful. They think love and war are both diversions, as though they exist for entertainment or a spectacle. They prefer to think of it that way, rather than acknowledge how much they need us both.”
There it is again, that intimacy in the way he’s speaking about us that makes me uncomfortable.
What he’s saying sets the two of us apart from all the other gods—a treacherous, romantic idea that worms its way into my heart, almost convincing me.
I know he’s an outcast among the Olympians, while I easily find my place, but the domains we rule are raw and passionate and unpredictable and of course that unsettles them.
For a dizzying moment, I see us through Ares’ eyes—two gods who are different to all the rest.
But that doesn’t make us the same as each other.
“When will you come back to Olympus? How long will it take before you can stand to see Zeus without declaring war on him?”
Ares shrugs and catches a gleaming droplet of nectar with his finger before it slides down the surface of the cup. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“But when you do,” I say, drawing a deep breath, “this stays between us.”
He gives me a quizzical glance. “Who would I tell?”
“I just mean it’s better that Zeus doesn’t suspect anything.”
“Aphrodite,” he says, “I don’t care what Zeus suspects. I don’t care what he thinks about anything.” He sounds scornful. “But, no, I won’t give anything away. I don’t want any of the other gods in my life.”
Any of them except me. A little thrill shivers through me. I damp it down at once. “You should care,” I say. “Anything that Zeus knows, he can use as a weapon. But it doesn’t matter. No one saw us leave Cyprus together.” They were all far too distracted to notice.
He looks at me steadily, waiting for me to go on.
“So, as far as everyone is concerned, nothing has changed. We can carry on just as we were before. You keep fomenting wars and sitting on Zeus’ council until he provokes you into storming out again.
And I’ll…” I twist my fingers into the soft fur of the bearskin draped across me.
“I’ll be Aphrodite, the same as always.”
He takes his time before answering. “Exactly the same?”
“Yes.” I’m careful with my words. “And if we make sure this doesn’t happen again, no one will ever find out.”
“If that’s what you want.” He sounds flat.
That is what I want, isn’t it? I need to find a way to exhaust the spark between us, to let it die down to ashes, not find any more reasons to keep it alight. “You know I never demand fidelity from my lovers, or offer it either.”
He holds my gaze, silent for a moment before he answers. “I’m not interested in changing you. I don’t want you to be anything other than what you are.”
“Good.” I take another sip. It would be easy for me to fool myself into pretending that it could always be this simple—the two of us together where the rest of the world can’t intrude. But we aren’t allies. When we leave his bedchamber, we rule over opposite realms.
And I’m worried that if I stay in this cocoon too long, I’ll forget why I need to know that, why I need to remind myself of its truth.
He’s the God of War. He stands for the ruin, death and destruction of everything I hold dear.
However passionately this fire between us might rage, I can’t let it burn out of control.
—
I soar away from Thrace, a white dove against a gray sky, unseen and unnoticed by Eris, who swoops in as I leave, her wings a dark shadow in the clouds. All the way back to Mount Olympus, I practice the breezy, unconcerned attitude I’ll adopt in its halls.
When Zeus alights on me in the corridors, his gleeful expression doesn’t bode well. “Why do you look so happy?” I ask him. “Is there good news?”
“Ares is leading his tribe to war,” he says. “That unbearable Strife Goddess trailing behind him as usual.”
That didn’t take long, I think. They must have left the moment I was gone, hungry for the fight.
“I thought you wanted him to hold them back?” I ask. “I heard your last argument, bringing the throne room ceiling down in ruins.”
“An exaggeration,” he scoffs. “And why were you listening? I didn’t think you had any interest in Ares.”
“You can’t blame me for being curious,” I say innocently. “He’s handsome.”
“He takes after me,” Zeus boasts. Then he frowns. “In one aspect at least.”
“Hmm. Of course. Anyway,” I continue, sitting down in the chair beside him, noting the way that his eyes follow every curve of my body when I move, “there wouldn’t be much point. Ares is only interested in one thing.”
“War,” Zeus says. “And I plan to deny him one.” His smile is unbearably self-satisfied.
“I’m sure he’ll be very frustrated.” I keep my voice benign. It seems Zeus is intent on massacring the warriors just as he threatened. I think of the death rites we heard last night and wonder who’ll be left to bury the next victims.
“Perhaps he’ll learn to obey me next time.”
“Perhaps.” I look at him closely. “Is that all you’re pleased about?”
His grin broadens. “You would know,” he says. “I’m on my way to Thebes.”
The princess he’s been visiting. I feel a twist of guilt, remembering how I urged Eros to fan the flames higher in the hope it would distract Zeus from Pandora. That didn’t work, but I’ve done nothing to dampen Zeus’ ardor. “Don’t you think,” I say, “you should be more cautious?”
He tips his head back, laughing. “Why?”
I give him a pointed stare. In his fervor, he seems to have forgotten the discretion he usually attempts, however minimal. “Your wife?”
“Aphrodite,” he says, “you sound like Hephaestus.” He curls his lip.
“Whenever he gets the courage to speak to me at all, it’s always with reproach.
As if he has the right to judge his own father.
I expect better from you, though. This woman, Semele…
well, you can understand.” The words thicken in his mouth like he’s savoring them.
I raise a hand to cut him off. “Don’t tell me,” I say. He doesn’t need to anyway. His desire is palpable. He’s practically salivating. “Just go.”
He needs no further encouragement. I’m eager to be free of his presence, but remind myself to distract him with a different passion when he returns.
If Hera hasn’t noticed already, she will soon and her wrath will be directed at the defenseless woman rather than her despised husband.
For Semele’s sake, I’ll put a swift end to it.
—
At the bottom of the steps, I glance back and see Hera in the archway, staring after me.
I hope she heard none of our conversation.
Before she can stop me, I swerve quickly toward the homely forge across the courtyard.
It’s an instinct to avoid her, though, and, when the door closes behind me, I wish I’d darted somewhere else.
I’ve already resolved to put Ares behind me. He’s back at war, and my curiosity about him is sated. It has to be. And I don’t feel any guilt about my lovers just because Hephaestus harbors feelings toward me.
But knowing how the brothers feel about one another, it might be an unnecessary cruelty for Hephaestus to learn just whose bed I’ve left. Even if I have no intention of returning to it.
“Aphrodite!” He’s leaning through the door to his side room, beckoning me in.
Too late for me to leave, then.
I walk through the workshop toward him, past the golden automatons and into the side room, where I’m surprised—and pleased—to find Charis already there, perched on a stool.
“Are you busy?” I ask. I can hear the clanking of metal and the hiss of steam from the workshop on the other side of the wall.
“No,” Hephaestus says. “Sit down. Wine?”
“Thank you.” I sit down on a silver stool, and Charis fetches the jug to pour it. I take the proffered goblet. “I’m just avoiding Hera,” I say with a sip. “I saw her in the courtyard.”
Hephaestus nods. “She wouldn’t follow you in here. She never visits me,” he says wryly.
“She’s been trying to get me to help her with weddings lately. She says I should be involved, but I’m fairly sure she wants me to preside over some on her behalf.” I shake my head and laugh.
“Again?” Charis asks me.
“Has she asked before?” says Hephaestus.
I roll my eyes. “She does, sometimes. Every so often she gets it into her head that it would be fitting, however many times I tell her it isn’t.”
“Why not?”
Charis and I exchange knowing glances. “Love and marriage aren’t the same thing. You’d think she’d know that better than anyone.”
“Oh,” says Hephaestus.
“She just hates it so much that she’d love to foist it onto someone else.” I clasp Charis’ wrist, gesturing to her to sit. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”